


It’s Called Art

by Beewachan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Nudity, but art edition nudity, just some shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 10:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beewachan/pseuds/Beewachan
Summary: Osamu draws Kenjirou.





	It’s Called Art

**Author's Note:**

> found this from 2018 and decided to post it bc im sad there’s no new osashira so here we go ;)

Osamu can hear the sound of the clock ticking in the corner of the room. It’s dark, but the sun’s rays filter in through the oakwood blinds. 

“I cannot believe,” Kenjirou begins, allowing Osamu to position Kenjirou’s hand in his own hair. 

“Comb your bangs back.”

“That I’m so desperate,” Kenjirou does as told while Osamu takes his second hand and puts it atop the other, “for food money that,” Kenjirou sighs.

“Look more natural.” Osamu leaves Kenjirou to reposition the lights. 

“That I’m posing naked for you right now.”

“Likewise,” Osamu answers. He toggles at the light, so it highlights Kenjirou’s cheekbones, and he returns to his table, where his paintbrush, palate, pencil, and canvas sit. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. You look super hot naked.”

“Thanks, I needed that,” Kenjirou replies with a raised eyebrow that makes Osamu feel like he needs to repent. 

Osamu disregards Kenjirou’s sarcasm and decides to ramble on. Lighthearted discussion usually makes models feel more comfortable, in his limited experience, anyway. “Your fingers look sexy with the tape around them. I think I developed a fetish in high school because — what’s his face — _Rintarou_ used to wear the tape.” But of course Osamu has a peculiar idea of light hearted discussion. 

“Do I have to listen to you talk this entire time?”

“No, but it’ll probably make the time pass quicker.” Osamu picks up his pencil. 

Kenjirou rewards Osamu’s answer with an eye roll. 

“In a little, you’re going to have to not move your face because I’m gonna put in details.”

“So I have to listen to you spout shit, but I can’t call you out on it?”

“Precisely,” Osamu nods, outlining Kenjirou’s body. “Your legs are fucking perfect.”

“Are you gonna paint the entire body?”

“I mean, it’s from a profile view, so your dick won’t be on full display when I present this, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Cool.” 

The ends of Osamu’s mouth quirk upward as he finishes a rough sketch of Kenjirou’s profile. 

“Turn your face toward me.”

A strand of hair hangs down over Kenjirou’s eye, dark in the new lighting. His gaze is intent, focused. His lips are parted so slightly that Osamu almost misses it. They’re fuller than Osamu remembers. A natural deep pink. His jawline is pronounced but not so sharp that Osamu finds him intimidating.

“Y’know,” Osamu exhales with a slight grin that turns into a chuckle; he locks eyes with Kenjirou flashing an enlightened smirk, the kind you wear when you know a new secret, “you’re gorgeous, Kenjirou.”

Osamu admits, maybe it was mean to come out and say something like _that_ after telling Kenjirou he couldn’t talk. He’s sure from the blush Kenjirou sports that he _wants_ to say something, but he _won’t_ , Osamu predicts. He’s too polite to lose position when he’s getting paid 2000 yen an hour to stay still. 

“I really like drawing you,” Osamu smiles again, a change from his typical countenance: resting bitch face. 

Kenjirou’s facial movements are atomic. So small that Osamu wouldn’t notice if he weren’t keen on analyzing his expression, but loaded with energy, waiting to burst into a snappy comeback. 

“Sorry I’m taking so long. I just want to get it perfect, and maybe stare at you long enough to ingrain your image into my mind in case I fuck up later.” 

Kenjirou’s glare seems to become more intense, so Osamu takes a few seconds more to pronounce the way his eyebrows just slightly draw together before saying, “Alright, you can talk now.” 

“Thanks so much, I love being told when I can and can’t talk, and fuck you,” Kenjirou’s voice is only a pinch acerbic. “How dare you say that kind of shit when you know I’m supposed to be quiet?” Kenjirou is less angry, more flustered, Osamu understands, so he doesn’t take fright in his model’s words. 

“The words just sort of slipped out before I could think about how they might affect you.” Today, Osamu reluctantly confesses, isn’t his first time drawing Kenjirou. And he’s wanted to tell Kenjirou how beautiful he is before, on numerous occasions, actually. 

So, yes, he’s put quite a lot of thought into how his words might affect Kenjirou. 

That’s why he never said anything before. 

But now, with Kenjirou right in front of him(!), Osamu can’t help but get a little nervous, feel a little too comfortable, too relaxed while drawing him. And he says things without thinking about how they’ll affect Kenjirou in the present situation. Oops; his bad. 

“The fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kenjirou frowns.

“Hey, it wasn’t an excuse,” Osamu lightly traces the shape of Kenjirou’s bicep, “it was an explanation.” 

“Use the present tense unless what it was has changed, you fool,” Kenjirou glares, for real this time. 

“Fucking Japanese majors,” Osamu shakes his head, but his eyes stay on Kenjirou. 

“It’s so violating having someone’s eyes casually wander your body for 2000 measly yen an hour.”

Osamu laughs. “Might as well walk the streets in clear heels, huh?” 

“Nah, fuck heels. They hurt.”

“You would know.” 

“Yes, I’m _that_ kind of gay.” 

Osamu is sure Kenjirou is only joking because his glare is accompanied by a smile, but honestly, Osamu wishes he weren’t. 

“Oh?” 

“Stop it, and draw me you pervert.” 

“I love that drawing you completely nude is less perverted than imagining you in heels, don’t you?” Osamu grins, and Kenjirou agrees with him for once. 

“You're damn right it is.” 

“I’ve wanted to see you naked since freshman year, not gonna lie,” Osamu refuses eye contact, favoring the profile of Kenjirou’s defined abdomen. “I just didn’t think it’d be like this.” 

“Uh-huh?” 

“Uh-huh.” Osamu nods. 

“Thought you were a straight fuckboy — the kind that’s in denial he might like dick.” Kenjirou sports an amused smirk, like he’s got nothing better to do than to make Osamu uncomfortable. 

“I’m a pan fuckboy, thank you, and I’m well-aware that you’re very much my type.” 

“Are we flirting right now?”

“I hope so.”

“Exhilarating. I’ve never flirted in the nude before,” Kenjirou chuckles almost triumphantly. 

“You should do it again, but, like, in my bed.” 

“I know our generation’s developed this fuck-on-the-first-date culture,” Kenjirou winks, significantly more comfortable than he was a few minutes ago, “but that’s so not me, so you’re going to have to buy me coffee, like twelve times, first.”

“What if I buy you filet mignon?” 

“Then perhaps, and _only perhaps_ I’d consider changing my ways.” 

“Did you just agree to go on a date with me?” Osamu tries and fails to hide a smile.

“No, why would I do that when you haven’t asked me on one?” 

“Will you go on a date with me?” 

“I bet you ask out everyone who poses nude for you.”

“I mean, yeah, but I usually ask them out before they pose nude for me,” Osamu’s grin grows toothy. 

“God, you’re such a fuckboy.”

“You haven’t demanded your pay and ordered me to never talk to you again, so I’m going to take that with a grain of salt.” 

“It better be some good filet mignon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading❤️🥺


End file.
